This empty, fearful castle has transformed into a hive of activity. Ladies send orders to maids, then contradict themselves, and correspond with other nobles all the while. Curiosity stings me with each note run and run back. Their scraps of paper and hurried directions speak of seating arrangements, stage decorations, and scripts. They can't be putting on some sort of mad play while men die on the wall.

"Page!"

Misanette's high voice stops me midstep. I school my face as I turn to face her on the divan. She beckons me over. The other Ladies scattered across the room fill the air with whispered frenzy. My ears catch snippets of words that have bounced around all day—Retrans, princess, diplomacy. It sounds like some foreigners arrived last night, but for some reason, no one seems to be considering chopping their heads off.

Misannete reaches for paper on the tea table, then draws back. Pastry crumbs dot the face of the blank stack. She dusts them off, and they leave oil spots behind. Her hand waves. "Ah, never mind." She looks up at me. "Tell Lady Valaecití that we'll need to change to the blue cushions for the pedestals. Oh!" Her hand ticks up before her like a flighty bird. "And tell her no, we don't need to retrieve the scepter, crown, or robe from the Treasury until the day of. It'd be a shame if someone tried to tamper with them."

Nearby, Lady Temmarelle's hand swipes through the air. "No one's going to tamper with them, Misanette. Better off to have them early so everything's set."

Misanette huffs. "And that's what Valaecití thinks too, but it's not as though no one's done it before! And if someone decides to pull a hoax with the staff, it's not going to be because I was careless."

Temmarelle about chokes on her tea. "If that staff lights up, I'm sure no one will mistake it for something so serious as a hoax. More like"—she sets her tea aside—"a gentle joke."

More of the Ladies are watching now, and a few laugh. A frown curls Misanette's lips. "That's not very kind."

"I don't mean anything by it, of course." Temmarelle crosses her legs. "But it's no secret that he's not exactly..." Her hand feathers the air. "'Chosen one' material. You can't say a thousand years of silence from the staff is going to be broken by a boy who disappeared from his country during a time of war." She smiles sweetly, and my fist curls. "Can you, Misanette?"

The Ladies all watch her, teacups frozen in their laps.

"No," she says finally. "I suppose not. But all the more reason to make sure there's no undue embarrassment at the event."

"Of course, of course." The Lady's hand flicks, and everyone goes back to their tea.

"Here," Misanette says to me, handing over a wooden r'meuring. "I trust you remember the message?"

"Yes, milady." I leave, head swirling, because this clarifies what all their mad arranging is about.

Aster is getting coronated. Soon.

Excitement for him wars with worry. This was what was supposed to happen—he was born to be Second Son of the Court, magician prince of all Morineaux. I can't imagine someone more dedicated to his people, more clever, more deserving. Still, I can't help but wonder if this crown will be his final shackle. There's no turning back after this.

But I suppose he's been a long way past turning back for a while now.

After I give Misanette's directions to Valaecití, I continue taking messages. Countless notes pass through my fingers, but between all the madness, I still manage to slip away and peek at them. Each time, Aster's plea for me not to get caught echoes in the back of my mind, and I wince. I'm not spying for you, I protest silently. I'm spying for me. That doesn't relieve the gnawing guilt or my fear of the guillotine, but I do my best to ignore them. If something happens to him that I could have known about, and warned him of, and I didn't—

In the silence of an empty hallway, I peer through the envelope of another note. As usual with sealed correspondence, I can only decipher words here and there: engagement, Retran girl, signing.

I go cold and numb, like someone poured icy anesthetic in my stomach. Because there's another word, all over the note, that I wish I couldn't see.

Aster.

My shaking fingers clench the paper. I'm going to crinkle it, but I can't seem to loosen my grip. He can't be getting married. This foreign girl, this woman that just got here today—surely I'm mistaken. She can't be here to marry him.

A weight drags at my heart. Sucking in a deep breath, I try not to remember the arms that kept me from the edge of the roof in Draó, the lips that brushed my brow just the other night. Mouth tightening, I relax my fingers and smooth the paper out against the wall.

He was bound to marry at some point.

* * *

I breathe a sigh of relief when I deliver my last note. I'm well past late for dinner and want nothing more than to disappear into the sanctuary of the infirmary for a warm bowl of soup and a hard night of practice with Vihnzeirre. I'm almost there when a woman calls out.

"Girl!"

I cringe but turn around. "Yes, milady?"

Valaecití stands just past the mouth of a drawing room, a few other Ladies trickling out behind her. "Don't just stand there and gawk. Come here!"

I bite my tongue and draw close. I don't want to do this woman a favor, and I don't want her money. But I also don't want to draw any negative attention, especially not hers. My scalp tingles in memory.

She pulls a note and a coin out of her reticule and snaps it shut. "Deliver this to Prince Aster."

I pale.

"Girl?"

"Yes, milady." The words stumble past my lips, and she drops the coin and note into my hand and sweeps away.

She catches up with the other women, but I stand there for several minutes. Eventually, I tear my feet from the floor and force myself to climb to the third story. Ice swirls in my stomach and trickles down to chill my feet. No matter how much I've wanted to catch a glimpse of him in the last week, just to be sure he was alright, now matter how many notes I've brought to him before, tonight, I want nothing more than to disappear. Maybe he won't be in his room; maybe I can just leave the note under his door. It's not what Valaecití expected, but it is after dinner. He'll see it soon enough.

Mind made up, I knock as softly as possible, expecting—hoping—that there'll be no response. A second goes by, and relieved, I move to slide the note under his door when it opens. I step back hurriedly.

He stands there, expression open and surprised, circlet slightly tilted over his hair. A too-long second passes before he says, "Leavi."

I hold the note outstretched. "Lady Valaecití sent this."

He slowly takes the paper. I itch to leave, but my feet are frozen to the stone. His eyes drift over the note, and stuck in place, I can't help but try to memorize his face: the high, regal brow; the lips that have smiled at me so softly; the intent, discerning look he pays the letter. I was foolish to ever think I might have a chance—what girl wouldn't fall for him? And what woman, lady, princess couldn't he have?

He bites his lip, and I wonder how long he's been doing that. Dark circles are starting to form under his eyes too. Will his princess love him for that dedication? Will she see that he gives his all to his country, even at the cost of himself? Will she forgive that he places Morineaux above her, not because he's not caring but because he cares for his people more than anything?

He folds the letter, and my eyes drop to the floor lest my face reveal my thoughts. I hope she does. Even though it twists my stomach into knots, I hope she makes him happier than I've ever seen him. "Congratulations, by the way." My eyes turn up so he can see me and know I'm sincere. "I heard today."

His expression freezes, unreadable like the mysterious stone faces of grave statues. His eyes search mine. "I—"

Whatever he, he doesn't finish, instead biting his lip again and tucking the note into his pocket. His gaze drops with the action. "Thank you."

A million thoughts click in my head at the simple words, but I know here, now, in Courtier's Circle, just outside the Captain's door, is not the place to say any of them. He'll do what's right, regardless of what I think or say, but I can't just leave him to it when—"You're doing it again."

His head snaps up. "What?"

"You're doing it again. The same thing you did the night before you left Draó." He doesn't want to marry this girl, and he's going to do it anyway.

He watches me for a moment, lips tight and gaze dark. My stomach twists. When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut, Leavi? Taking my wrist, he pulls me into the room, door wide open as always. He sits down, and I hesitantly follow suit.

I expected fire, but instead, he looks away, words quiet and detached. "If I do not marry her, then her people will not come to our aid. The day was always coming."

My traitor heart sinks again. He's not reluctant because he seeks someone else. I shove the selfish thought away. More importantly, he is reluctant because he doesn't love her but loves his country too much to refuse. I catch his eyes. "If you knew it was always coming, why..."

His lips twitch bitterly. "Why am I upset about it?"

I nod, arms crossing around myself.

He looks down. "When the war is over..." He straightens. "When the war is over, I'm to go back with them to Retra."

"No." Disbelief drains me. "They can't make you do that. They can't just..."

His voice is soft. "No one's forcing me. It's simply what must be done. Besides, Selenia very much can make me, if I were to try to refuse. My mother orchestrated this, my sister signed off on it, and now it is to me to make sure that peace reigns."

"No one can make you." The injustice of it simmers inside me. His mother and sister couldn't save their country, so they strip him of it to pay their debts?

He laughs. "A prince is still a man, Leavi."

"And?"

His eyebrows rise. "And a man is beholden to the lady of his house."

I just shake my head, lost. As impassioned as my words were, I know I'm being a hypocrite. I certainly never stood up to my mother; I only snuck around her.

He deflates."Leavi, the only option for a man that refuses the marriage the lady of his house ordains is to run away. I'm not going to abandon my country again. Not until they make me."

I stare at him, hurting for what he has to do, for what is, and for what could have been. My voice drops. "You don't have to do this."

His gaze locks on mine. "And you didn't have to rescue me."

My heart burns like the pages of a book aflame. Just like ashes die cold, the fight goes out of me. He's right. None of Sean's appeals could ever stop me from forging the path I believed was right. None of mine will stop Aster. Perhaps they shouldn't.

Swept through with regret, I bite my tongue and nod, once, definitive. Gratefulness flashes in his eyes, and I wonder how lonely it must be to have people question your every move.

Silence reigns for a moment before he leans forward on his knees. "But—" He pulls in a deep breath. "I'm not gone yet." He offers a small smile, but his gaze is distant. Suddenly, he focuses on me again. "Will you be there tomorrow?"

For a wild moment, I think he's talking about his wedding. "At the coronation, you mean?"

He nods, expression earnest.

This boy is an enigma, something untouchable that stretches out its hand to me. So often, I want to read him but find him inscrutable, want to comfort him but cannot. How could I refuse him so simple a request?

"I'll be there."

He brightens, and traitorous pleasure warms my chest. We don't have long, though, before the conversation empties and reality brings itself back down on us.

I see myself out. For some reason, my feet don't bring me to the infirmary. Instead, I find myself wandering the second floor halls, drifting like a ghost through the half-light.

Eventually, I slip into a sitting room, the door closing softly behind me. As I settle onto a couch, my head rests against the cushions, and I stare through the crystals' white twilight at an elaborate ceiling. The fresco is of Lady Jacqueline sitting on the great silver tree in the Auditorium, a man in the thrones on either side of her. A silver ring halos her head.

"Who were you?" I whisper to the picture. Her magic was the same color mine is. Was she ever afraid of it? People are real and have lives before they become legends. Was she as afraid of the Shadesnare's people as we are? When they cornered her at the silver tree, did she fear death, and when the battle was over, was she sick over the loss of life? To have heirs, she must have married, but even with her children and her husband and her throne, was she lonely?

Will Aster be lonely when he moves to Retra?